Miss Susan

When I was about seventeen I had an interest in a lady who lived across the street. Miss Susan was about 32 or so. She was married with two small kids. She wasn't a supermodel but she had a very pretty face. I always enjoyed her huge breasts, which she liked to display.

My ultimate dream was to slide my rod in between them and squirt forever and ever. I would sit near my bedroom window and peek out with my cock in hand as she did yard work on hot sunny summer days. I wondered if her crotch hair was as auburn and curly as the hair on her head.

The following year I went off to college and they moved to another neighborhood. My parents kept in touch but my fantasies drifted to other women. About a year ago I ran into Miss Susan. She was flattered that I still called her such and insisted that I call her Susan. She lost a couple of pounds and looks well for a fifty-something. I had my eyes on her chest the whole time. She told me everything that had been going on over the years in her life. She had been divorced and re-married. We exchanged numbers and hugged. I didn't think she would let me go. I didn't mind being crushed against those massive mamms. My wood sprang into action, which I think she felt. Speaking of feeling, she hit a cheap feel on my ass cheeks. I went home and had a good jerk for old times. I might call her and see about fulfilling my dreams.